


Noctilucent

by Beleriandings



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, Found Family, Gen, Hanukkah, TAZ Secret Santa Gift Exchange 2017, minor Carey/Killian in the background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 13:42:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13124919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: (Noctilucent - shining at night)The Bureau of Balance celebrate Hanukkah on the moonbase.





	Noctilucent

**Author's Note:**

> My TAZ Gift Exchange fic for giant-goldfish on tumblr, who asked for the Bureau of Balance celebrating Hanukkah or any other Jewish holiday, pre-Wonderland time period. I chose Hanukkah because seasonal but!! PLEASE NOTE, I am not Jewish myself and have like zero of the cultural context for this, so apologies if this is not as good as it could have been. I did as much research as I could though, to try to make it as good and accurate as possible!! Also, thanks to valarhalla and belegsghost on tumblr for giving it a beta-read/advice/correcting my dumb mistakes, any that remain are on me and I am sorry :’)
> 
> (Also please don’t think to hard about exactly where this fits in the timeline of canon as it sort of… super doesn’t make sense re: that, but hopefully works as its own thing anyway!)
> 
> With this in mind, I hope you enjoy <3

On the first night, when everyone is gathered around, Lucretia is the one who lights the shamash, after speaking the words she remembers by heart into the watchful silence. She pauses for a moment, then lights the candle at the far end, to burn for that night. The menorah is as tall as she is, standing in front of the Voidfish tank - she can’t say _exactly_ why she placed it there, but somehow it seemed right, and all the others agreed.

Everyone is gathered here, and she pauses, still facing the menorah before her, watching the dance of flame for just a moment, and feeling the others’ eyes on her back. They all made it back to the moonbase in time to watch her light the first light, and as soon as they had all gathered Taako had declared it officially Hanukkah Sweater Time; Magnus had been still pulling his sweater over his head when Lucretia came in to light the menorah.

The sun has just set over the horizon, far below on the surface as the moon sails over Faerun. Through the wide window, Lucretia can see lights on the ground, the city of Neverwinter a glowing constellation of lamps, smaller towns and villages like outlying clusters of stars. They glimmer in counterpoint to the light of the candle she has lit, here in the moonbase as everyone looks on.

And overhead, Fisher in their tank begins to sing their quiet, otherworldly song, as the flame catches on the wick and flickers into life.

The song tugs at her heart a little; she has her family around her, at least most of them. She is more aware of that than ever. Even if she doesn’t deserve them here with her after what she did, even if they would probably hate her if they knew. Even if Lup is just _gone_ , apparently, vanished without a trace. Even if Barry is still running, doesn’t want to be found. He’s still somewhere out there in the world, Lucretia thinks with a pang; wherever he is, he must be so alone.

Fisher is alone too, she thinks; she took their child away, yet another thing she has done to hurt the ones she cares about the most.

Maybe that’s why she brought everyone here, at this time of year of all times. Maybe she wants to give them all that she can, though it will never be all that she owes. She would give them the whole world if only she could.

The candle glows with a bright, steady flame, and behind her, she hears a quiet cheer. Already she can smell the scent of food drifting towards her; she knows Taako has been cooking in the kitchen all day, even though he said he wasn’t going to. Someone bursts into an old, familiar, cheerful song, and it’s Magnus, of course it is; she would recognise that singing voice anywhere.

Lucretia takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, then turns around to face the others, a smile already tugging at the corners of her lips.

  
  


On the second night, it’s Magnus who lights the candles. He’s ready for this; he’s carefully memorised the blessing over the candles, and he says it proudly, making sure everyone is listening. He has to duck as he does so, batting away Angus’ dreidel that Taako is levitating tauntingly, sending it spinning through the air as the boy jumps up high to try to get it. But no matter; Magnus lights his flames with deliberation and a flourish, touching the flame to the wicks.

For a moment after the small flames flares into life, the Voidfish drifts over to the side of its tank overlooking the place where the menorah has been set up, where the Bureau employees have gathered to watch him light the candle.

The Voidfish extends a tendril, pressing it up to the glass; Magnus can’t help but smile, turning around to put his hand against the glass once again.

He stands like that for just a moment, before Angus’ levitating dreidel hits him in the side of his head and he bursts out laughing.

Johann’s written a song for the occasion, and Magnus can hear the violin melody beginning to drift over the sounds of laughter and talk. They’ve been drinking already tonight, a little; he can hear Avi and Killian, who are already having an animated discussion about whether the Voidfish would like to make an exception to its diet of music for some good good fried foods.

Magnus smiles even wider as he rushes down to join them.

  
  


Merle’s turn is third; he has to stand on a chair to light his candles, and he nearly overbalances, but his dexterity is just enough to save him. Quickly, he retreats down to the safety of the floor, but something about the bright flame he has set next to the others makes his heart feel a little warmer, something just on the edge of his memory. It’s not the festival he was brought up with, but it feels… _right_ , somehow, for reasons he can’t quite remember. As though, just maybe, he’s done this before.

Afterwards, he goes to stand next to the Director, who is already starting on the wine. He should be a little more concerned about the size of that glass, and he would be, but he figures that there’s no time for it like now. So he takes one of his own, and stands beside her in companionable silence as he watches both Angus and Avi’s eyes go wide with delight as Taako gleefully transmutes some chocolate gelt to real gold.

Eventually though, Merle does speak; there’s something he’s been wondering about.

“Hey Director, can I ask a question?”

She raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile at one corner of her mouth. “Knock yourself out.”

“Why d’you place the menorah here, in the Voidfish chamber?” He inclined his head, stroking his beard. “No one comes down here much, usually” continued Merle. “Except for Johann, and I mean I guess we all come down here when we need to gather round to, you know… erase someone’s ass from existence, et cetera…” he cleared his throat. “So? Why here?”

The Director doesn’t answer immediately. “Family” she says at last, rather enigmatically, Merle thinks. “And remembering.”

Merle waits for her to continue, until the silence gets a little too long. And maybe a bit awkward, though as always she seems oblivious to that. So Merle smiles wryly, raising his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

The Director - Lucretia, and he is beginning to think of her so - takes a long drink of her own wine, but Merle could swear he sees her smile too.

  
  


Killian lights the candles, the fourth night. As the lights flicker, she thinks about the past, and the future; so much has changed in a year. Being part of the Bureau of Balance means that her family, back down there on the surface, won’t remember her if she dies; she will be nothing, a static ghost to them.

She thinks of the darkness, the gnawing hunger inside her when she had encountered the Pheonix Fire Gauntlet; this life, this task, it gets to her sometimes. She’s seen what can happen, many times now. _Magic Brian, Captain Captain Bane, even Boyland, who never even fell under the thrall of a relic, but he died just the same_ … she knew them all. They should be here now, but they’re not. She is though; Killian is painfully aware of that, and of the fact that now she’s one of the only a precious few left to remember.

But she has something else now, she knows, as she steps down from the dias by the Voidfish’s tank, and goes to return to the others. As she sees Carey - expertly teaching Magnus some sick dreidel tricks, an integral part of any self-respecting rogue’s skill set - she touches the carved rosewood ring on her finger, warmth filling her all over again.

  
  


On the fifth night, Carey lights the candles with care, and quick deliberation. She smiles over them for a moment, feeling their warmth radiating against the scales of her hand. It’s been cold weather lately. Still, she’s warm enough, with the festive sweater that Magnus has knitted her. It proclaims LET’S GET LIT in sparkling capitals, above a knitted menorah, and not a stitch is out of place. She’d been surprised and touched, really; Magnus always gives the best - and most unexpected - gifts. She hadn’t even known he could knit until he had presented her with it, but in fairness, when pressed he had seemed to have forgotten where and when he had learned. This had struck Carey as odd in passing, but also endearingly Magnus-ish.

Still, she thinks, if there was a descriptor that could fit the little family they have gathered here on the moon, then surely odd was as good as any other. If anything it was a bit of an understatement.

She turns, to find Killian offering her a drink. Carey accepts with a smile; even though they’re engaged now, she doesn’t need candle warmth or even alcohol to feel all warm and fuzzy and to start to lose her composure around Killian.

How much has changed in a year, she thinks contentedly as she sips her drink, leaning her head comfortably against Killian’s thick, solid and comforting arm. A year ago, she had been a new recruit to the Bureau, with a hopeless, awkward crush on Killian that had really done a number on her wisdom and dexterity stats, Carey would be the first to admit. Which had been bad for the whole rogue deal, to say the least. But certainly, she thinks, it worked out okay in the long run. In fact, much better than okay; in a year - depending on how everything with the relics shakes out - they might be married.

 _Let this year bring even more light than the last_ , she thinks to herself as yet another of Angus’ many gifts - a sweater of his own this time - goes sailing, levitation-aided, over her head. On impulse, she reaches up and catches it by the sleeve. She hands it back to him, though not without pulling a chocolate coin from behind his ear, to be rewarded with a gasp of delight.

And somehow, as Killian laughs too, and Magnus yells with impressed glee, Carey thinks that wish might just come true.

  
  


The sixth night is Davenport; he has been having one of his worse days, his mind feeling particularly wreathed in fog, as it sometimes is. The others had to say the blessing for him, mostly; very often, words just won’t come, no matter how well-known they might be. On days like this he often whispers his own name, over and over, like a prayer in itself.

But somehow, now, as he reaches up to light the candles, the fog clears a little; this is familiar, though he doesn’t know why. This is home, this is something that isn’t wreathed in the mist that fills his mind and wraps the parts of him that hold him together. This is bright lights in the night, the smell of food, the sound of laughter. There are words, somewhere, just on the edge of his memory, and well-wishes. There are images too, of times he had done this before. He can’t quite touch them, but somehow, today, with the Bureau members all around him and the comforting light of the flames before him, that doesn’t seem to matter so much. He knows there is something missing, but for now, he is just content with this light.

  
  


On the seventh night, Taako stuffs a latke in his mouth - they turned out well even if he does say so himself, it’s all in how you grate the potatoes and to get that real crispy goodness you soak them in ice water, as he had been telling the others earlier - and raises his Umbra Staff, to light the flame of the shamash. Prestidigitation would do the job fine, he thinks, but why not put on a show while he’s at it. It’s been a calm week; he’s got spell slots to spare. Latke magic is mostly cantrips, after all.

He lights a tiny flame at the very point of the umbrella to light the shamash; he’s doing a precision job here, and this is his moment, and if he doesn’t get to show off a little here then honestly when can he?

Taako plans to do some sort of needlessly-sophisticated-but-mostly-harmless-and-indisputably-cool flame trick; maybe let a delicate butterfly made of fire flutter out of the point of his Umbra Staff and alight on the wick of the shamash, setting it aglow, then he goes in and lights the other candles with _style_ , he thinks. That’s how he’s picturing it, at least.

He raises his Umbra Staff.

And something unexpected happens.

The tiny flame at the end of the staff bursts out into a shower of jubilant sparks; a bright spiral of fire that arcs towards the wick, nevertheless catching it precisely. An entirely too-large jet of flame twists into an intricate knot above as no natural flame could; it is almost artful, a display of light, showing both a prodigious mastery of evocation magic and a strange kind of nostalgia, a longing ache for something lost, that Taako can’t help but feel doesn’t even originate from himself, precisely.  

After a moment though, the flames subside, showing the true precision of what he has just done; Taako blinks in surprise, for where the flames had engulfed all the candles - all of the surroundings in fact - wholly, now only the shamash is burning, with barely a trickle of melted wax. The flames, he realises, must have been extremely precisely targeted to do that, with that much power. It’s weird, to say the least; he’s fairly sure he’s never learned how to do that. He doesn’t even have spell-shaping. He frowns a little as he holds out the shamash, lights the other candles. That was certainly the oddest thing that has happened since… well, since the last time something like that happened with the Umbra Staff.

It doesn’t matter though; it’s something to think about later. Before him his candles glow, bright and warm points of light.

Taako stares for a moment, then he hears a voice pipe up behind him. “Wow, Sir! That was amazing!”

Taako composes himself a little, turning to see Angus looking up at him with starry-eyes admiration. “Yeah” he says, winking. “Yeah, it was pretty great, wasn’t it?”

He goes back to the others, but his perception isn’t high enough to catch Lucretia staring at his sweater-clad back as he walks away from the menorah. Perhaps it’s just the dancing candle lights, but if he had been looking, then perhaps just for a moment he would have seen a glimmer of tears in her eyes, of memories of things lost and gratitude at what she had been able to save and to gain back, against all odds.

  
  


On the eighth night, Angus’ face is aglow with excitement as he finishes saying the blessing, and Killian lifts him up in strong arms. The lights of the candles catch on the lenses of his glasses in counterpoint to their reflected dance on the tank behind and the drifting galaxies of the Voidfish within. All of the candles are aglow. Outside, the sun has set on the world. But within, Angus turns back to his family, who have all gathered around.

He’s done this before, in his old life. He remembers standing at his grandfather’s side in the huge echoing mansion in Neverwinter with its heavy dark wooden panelling, a warm hand holding his as he had stood on tiptoe, to stare up at the dancing lights. He tears up a little at that memory; he really does miss his grandfather.

But now, there are other faces looking at him, offering grins and hair ruffles as Killian sets him back on his feet.

He smiles up at the others around him in the light of the candles, and the Voidfish’s tank, and the glimmer of the sweater Taako had cast prestidigitation on for him, to make it sparkle and glow.

He had a family, once. But even though they’re lost, he has a new family now. And that’s got to count for something; you don’t need to be the world’s greatest detective to work that out.

  
  


That final night is full of warmth and light as the moonbase sails through the starry winter night’s silence into the new dawn, and inside, for once, there is just hope; hope that they can carry on undefeated and still holding onto each other in defiance, and hope that the coming year will be better than the one before.


End file.
